Improbable?
by DixieH
Summary: After Sherlock dies, John sees him - everywhere. Is John mad or is that improbable too?


**_ After Sherlock dies, John sees him - everywhere. _****_Is John mad or is that improbable too? _**  


**_This is a rather pointless drabble based on John's visit, in The Reichenbach Fall, to his therapist, Ella. The first 100 words or so are quoted directly from that episode and are not my work. _**

**_I don't own anything else in this universe either. I thought you should know.– Dix. _**

**_Improbable?  
_**

"Why today?" She asked. John's therapist, Ella, sat across from him in an armchair near the window. Outside the rain poured in sheets.

"Do you wanna hear me say it?"

"Eighteen months since our last appointment."

"Do you read the papers?"

"Sometimes."

"And you watch telly." He paused wishing he hadn't come. "You know why I'm here." When she said nothing, he continued.

"I'm here becau ~."

"What happened John?" It wasn't just professional probing but the curiosity of the onlooker that made her ask.

He closed his eyes. Shuttering the pain. "Sher –"

"You need to get it out."

"My best friend Sherlock Holmes; he's dead." She let him sit in silence for two long minutes. He'd said a great deal in that one admission.

It took him three sessions over three weeks to tell her everything about the last eighteen months. The first day there was a waterfall of emotion but by the third day even as he talked about Sherlock's fall, John could recount the details without breaking down. She'd told him to visit Sherlock's grave and say all those things he'd never said to Sherlock. It proved to be the breakthrough he needed. During their fourth session, she thought this was progress and she told him so.

He looked away then wondering what was next. "So why have you come back?" She asked finally. "Why now?"

His brow furrowed and he cocked his head looking at her.

"You've lost people before now." She said. "Family, friends, colleagues." He nodded understanding. "You've experienced grief."

"Yes."

"Did you visit a therapist in the past to work through the grief?"

"No."

"Well, John, I'm wondering why you've come now." He squirmed under her steady focus.

When he didn't answer right away she pursued him. "Is this the first time someone you know has committed suicide."

"It wasn't suicide." He said quickly.

The papers. She said. "The telly, indicated otherwise."

John shook his head. "He fell. He didn't do in on purpose. He wouldn't."

"He wouldn't commit suicide?"

"I knew him. "

"The other day you said, that he told you that the phone call was a note. He said good-bye. It sounds like he thought it was suicide." She was looking at her notes recalling the details.

"He was confused in those last minutes. He didn't know what he was saying. He said all sorts of things that made no sense."

"Perhaps he'd been confused for some time, John." She said gently.

"What?"

"He hired Richard Brook. He deceived the police. He lied to you." She said slowly. "Are you feeling guilty, John?"

"Guilty?"

"Sometimes people close to suicides feel responsible for the deaths."

"No, I've already told you it wasn't suicide." He leaned forward in the chair.

She looked at her notes.

"Perhaps you feel guilty for helping Sherlock Holmes perpetrate fraud, for helping him lie and deceive the police and the courts."

"He never!" John said too loudly "It was all true. Moriarity made it up." His voice was high and sharp.

She let him sit for a moment before she said anything more.

"So you don't feel guilty. Why are you here, John? How can I help you?"

He swallowed hard and looked out the window. The sky was a steely gray and wind whipped the tree branches but no rain came.

"I see him sometimes." He said finally. "I think I'm going mad. "

"You see Sherlock?"

John nodded. He looked down and consciously relaxed his clenched fists.

"Since he died. I see him."

"When you dream?" She asked trying to understand. John shook his head.

"God - no when I'm in the shops or getting off the tube. When Mrs. Hudson and I went to the cemetery."

"You see someone who **looks **like Sherlock." She made a note on the page.

John nodded. "There was a man in a great black coat. I only caught a glimpse of him as I was getting out of the taxi."

"Why do you think that is John?"

His anger bubbled to the surface then. "You're the therapist." He said. "You tell me!"

"Why don't you tell me about some of the times you've seen him." Her voice was quiet.

John nodded. "The first time was the same day." He cleared his throat and started again. "The same day ~ he died, after I got home. I was standing at the window. I saw him walk by. He was across the street." The words came out in a rush.

"How was he dressed?"

John frowned. "I don't know."

"Was he dressed in a way that seemed familiar or was there something about his walk or his face or his hair that made you think it was Sherlock?"

"It wasn't the clothes. The man I saw wasn't dressed like Sherlock. He had on a dark jumper and jeans. He had a Tesco bag."

"So what made you think it was Sherlock?" She asked.

"I don't know," John said slowly. "His hair maybe or the way he walked or ~" He shook his head.

"You said you saw him when you were on the tube. "

John nodded. "It was a few days later. I wasn't thinking about him or anything. I just glanced out the window as we pulled into the station. He was standing on the platform. I didn't even see his face, just that bloody coat he always wears. "

The therapist was nodding. "Anything else?" John was quiet a moment and then he looked at her triumphantly.

"The collar on the coat; Sherlock was always pulling it up. That's what the man was doing when I saw him. He was pulling up the collar."

"Have you seen him since you started to come see me?" She asked.

"In the cemetery, as the taxi pulled up I saw a man walking through the gates. That was the last time."

"Well, John, I don't think you're mad. You had a very intense stressful experience when Sherlock was alive by all you've told me. You experienced a tremendous shock when he died."

"So you don't think I'm actually seeing him."

She offered him a small smile. "Sherlock Holmes is dead John. You saw him fall. He couldn't survive such a fall so he must be dead. If he's dead you haven't been seeing him..."

"Right, of course." John exhaled loudly. "But why do I see him everywhere?"

"You're missing him. You spent a great deal of time together and you're having trouble accepting he wasn't the man you thought he was. He made things up. He said things that weren't true. He lied to you as he was lying to other people. You're an honorable man. Loyalty is an important quality for a soldier. Is it possible you're angry with him? For lying to you?"

"But he didn't lie." John said.

"He wouldn't be the first person to respond to negative publicity with suicide. The papers drove him to his death. Did he seem unstable to you John? You're a medical professional. Did he seem unstable?"

John thought of those nights. "Danger nights" Mycroft called them. He thought of Sherlock's obsessions; the skull, the sock index, Moriarity.

John shook his head. "Of course not. Driven. Certainly. Focused. Without question. But not unstable, not psychotic, not suicidal." He paused and then said, "And he didn't make things up."

"There are only two conclusions." The therapist said, "Either you are actually seeing him or you are not.

"I miss him. Of course." John's voice was quiet. Then he cleared his voice. "So I'm imagining him. I'm seeing similarities and my brain is wishing it was him. I've never done that before. I lost my mother and other friends. I didn't imagine them back into my life."

"Every loss is different, John."

John shook his head and then stood and looked down at her.

"Our time isn't up yet." She said.

"No doctor it's fine. You've helped a great deal. Sherlock told me many times: "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.""

She sat very still trying to understand.

"It is impossible that I've imagined him. I don't imagine things. I don't do creative. If I'm not imagining him then I must be actually seeing him. It is improbable but it must be the truth. Sherlock Holmes is alive."

"John." She said. But it was too late he was already striding away.

She watched him go and then rose from her chair and closed the door behind him. She glanced down at her notes. Certifiable she wrote under the last comment. When she wrote it, she thought it was improbable and had planned to add a question mark. Instead she underlined the word - twice.

fin

**_Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated - Dix._**


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